


counting kisses

by alicialeila



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Bittersweet, Canonical Character Death, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Kissing, Like 5 fluff + 1 angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 16:46:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15667227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicialeila/pseuds/alicialeila
Summary: Five times Totsuka kissed Mikoto first;one last time Mikoto kissed Totsuka.





	counting kisses

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Mikoto! (And sorry, I guess.)
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks to Vanessa for reading through this before I posted! We have been talking a lot about Mikototsu kisses lately. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

 

1. 

 

Mikoto sat on his favorite bench, head tilted up towards the sunshine, quiet amidst the chatter and laughter of his schoolmates. Soaking in the warmth, eyes closed, he longed for a nap. But there wouldn’t be time, since he had agreed to meet Kusanagi and Totsuka. The final school bell had chimed a few minutes ago, so it wouldn’t be much longer until the two of them appeared to drag Mikoto out of his solitude.

“King!”

Mikoto heard the cheerful voice from a distance and opened his eyes. Hard to miss in his tiny middle school uniform, Totsuka glittered in the sea of high school students, with his golden hair and bright smile. As he approached, Mikoto could tell he was sucking on some sort of candy. Honestly, did the kid need all that sugar?

“Good afternoon, King!” Totsuka chirped, holding his blue popsicle in one hand so he could speak. He plopped down beside Mikoto on the bench. “How was school today?”

He was going to comment on how Totsuka wasn't supposed to be on their school grounds, but, seeing Totsuka up close, he snorted instead.

“What?” Totsuka asked around his popsicle. It had begun to melt in the heat of the afternoon, sticky blue trickling down to Totsuka’s fingers, and so Totsuka had licked at the mess and shoved the treat back into his mouth.

Totsuka’s lips had been dyed a ridiculous blue.

Mikoto flicked Totsuka on the forehead. “You look stupid,” he muttered, gesturing to the treat.

Totsuka’s resulting pout only emphasized the outlandish shade of his lips. “So what? It tastes good!”

Mikoto snickered, and Totsuka tugged the popsicle out of his mouth with an exaggerated _pop_. Before Mikoto could move away, Totsuka was leaning in to press his candy-stained lips to his cheek in a big, wet kiss.

“Ha!” Totsuka cried. He stuck out his tongue—that, too, stained blue—in childish triumph. “Now King looks stupid, too.” He returned to his treat, completely ignoring Mikoto’s murderous glare.

He was such a _brat._

“Idiot,” Mikoto grumbled, heart pounding in his chest.

It was impossible to get used to the open, easy way that Totsuka gave affection, because it was not something that Mikoto had ever known. He was so distracted by the casual press of Totsuka’s lips that he forgot that he more than likely had a weird blue Totsuka-shaped lip print tattooed on his cheek until Kusanagi appeared and pointed it out with a laugh.

“Ha, what happened here?” Kusanagi asked, amused.

“Do you want to match, Kusanagi-san?” Totsuka said it so sweetly, but his wry smile and the evil glint of his eye must have been a red flag to Kusanagi, because he bolted away, laughing. Totsuka scrambled from the bench to chase after him. The two of them were so happy and bright that the sight of them wrenched a smile from Mikoto.

He trailed behind them, hands in his pockets, trying not to think too hard about the tingle that lingered on his cheek.

 

 

2.

 

Sitting on his couch in an empty apartment, in peace and quiet save for the low hum of voices coming from the bar downstairs, Mikoto figured that it didn’t really make sense for him to be on the edge of losing control. But here he was, muscles aching with tension, almost trembling, trying to smother the burning swirl of _something_ that was threatening to spill out.

He wasn’t surprised when he heard the knock at the door and the gentle “King?” Mikoto had holed himself up upstairs since yesterday, after they’d had a particularly violent one-sided encounter with some gang of street thugs who thought they were tough.

Although Mikoto had long dealt with the anger and loathing that usually sat in the pit of his stomach, he was still unnerved by their physical manifestation: his powers, newly granted to him by the Slate, inherited from the Red King.

The physical confrontations were routine, but the sense of dread that clung to him even after a fight had ended was not.

Had he gone too far?

Would he, next time?

He stared down at his hand. He could have sworn it had been burned and blackened by the fire that had erupted from within him yesterday. And yet, the skin was still unmarked. It seemed wrong, somehow.

“I’m coming in,” Totsuka said from behind the door. Mikoto didn’t look up, but he felt the couch shift with Totsuka’s added weight beside him. “Kusanagi-san said you’re brooding up here.”

Totsuka’s tone was light, but Mikoto wasn’t in the mood for jokes. He clenched and unclenched his fist, still imagining what should have been the consequence of his flames.

Mikoto’s hand was still when Totsuka took it between his own hands to inspect. “Hmm,” Totsuka murmured, turning Mikoto’s hand over. “Looks like a fine hand to me.” There was a teasing lilt to his tone, but the gentle way he cradled Mikoto’s hand made Mikoto’s stomach ache.

Mikoto couldn’t help but look at Totsuka’s face, which was soft and relaxed as ever. He’d never understand how it was so easy to be like this, with him of all people. His hand twitched, and Totsuka’s thumbs rubbed it soothingly.

“Does it hurt?” Totsuka asked softly.

“What?”

“King’s fire.”

Mikoto didn’t know how to explain how his power felt, exactly, so he said nothing. Instead, he called the heavy weight of his flames to his hands, to the tips of his fingers, without letting them burst through.

Totsuka must have felt the rise in temperature, because he gripped Mikoto’s hand a little tighter. Mikoto frowned; it’s not that he was trying to scare Totsuka, but the guy really should have developed a better sense of self-preservation by now. Mikoto let a few sparks out before shoving the heat back down deep. Totsuka let out a little noise of surprise, but he didn’t let go. Mikoto’s gaze once again traveled from his hand to Totsuka’s face to gauge his reaction.

Totsuka was watching him carefully, and whatever he saw in Mikoto’s expression had him quirking his lips into a tender smile. Slowly, he lifted Mikoto’s hand and pressed his lips to his palm. “There,” he said evenly. “Does that help?”

“You’re an idiot,” Mikoto rasped. For some reason, though, he didn’t take his hand back. He let Totsuka hold onto it as he felt a very different kind of warmth rush inside him.

When their eyes met, an unfamiliar tension bloomed between them, so thick he could hardly breathe through it. Totsuka continued to rub Mikoto’s hand with his thumbs, and the prickling it left behind was just as sharp and real as the afterburn of his fire. Mikoto felt himself shift infinitesimally closer. Totsuka’s eyes were warm and full of _something_ , and it was probably a bad idea, but Mikoto wanted to know—

There was a knock at the door.

“I’m comin’ in,” Kusanagi said, before pushing open the door.

The tension dissolved, although Totsuka, quite unselfconsciously, still held on to Mikoto’s hand.

“You guys comin’ down?” Kusanagi’s eyes flickered between the two of them as he approached. He sighed, and gave them each a good knock on the head.

"Ow!" Totsuka whined dramatically, bottom lip sticking out in a familiar pout.

Mikoto let out a snicker, and, impossibly, Totsuka brightened at the sound. He squeezed Mikoto’s hand once before getting up from the couch and trying to pull Mikoto along with him.

“Come on, King,” Totsuka said, and Mikoto let himself be pulled.

 

 

3. 

 

Mikoto was even warmer than usual when he blinked awake, sprawled out on a couch in HOMRA. That probably had to do with the press of someone’s cheek against his bare bicep and the arms wrapped around his waist. Totsuka slept soundly, using Mikoto as his own personal pillow, as he had become increasingly more prone to do, and, worryingly, Mikoto didn't mind.

Light filtered through the color-stained windows of HOMRA, painting Totsuka in a soft rainbow. It was morning, then.

Mikoto looked around the bar. Members of Homra were scattered across the room, sleeping after a night spent drinking and playing cards. Bandou and Shohei were passed out side by side, hunched over the bar, and somehow through the course of the night they’d managed to switch hats. Eric was curled onto one side of a booth, a second hoodie covering him as a makeshift blanket. Fujishima slept on the other side of the booth, his own hoodie conspicuously missing. Kamamoto was spread out on the floor, snoring, with Yata’s head resting on his stomach. Chitose and Dewa were missing, but Mikoto could see a foot sticking out from the doorway that led to the bathroom.

Anna had been tucked into bed by Totsuka before the real drinking had started, and Kusanagi had no doubt made his way to his own apartment in the early hours of the morning, rather than sleep on the floor at HOMRA.

Mikoto didn’t always join in on their late-night parties, but Totsuka had been particularly insistent, so he’d indulged him. Mikoto looked down at the golden head. Totsuka himself had only had a few drinks, probably so that he could keep an eye on the younger boys, who still hadn’t outgrown the tendency to overdrink whenever they got the chance. Mikoto was grateful for that, because drunk Totsuka was a force to be reckoned with.

Mikoto shifted. He was far too comfortable, but he knew he should probably get up before Totsuka woke and teased him for not shoving him off. And yet, the profound sense of calm that washed over him at the warmth of Totsuka’s body, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, anchored him to his spot. It was almost deceptive that Totsuka could look so peaceful and still when he was the brightest and most vibrant thing Mikoto had ever known.

He reached into his pocket for a cigarette, trying not to dislodge Totsuka. He must have failed, though, because Totsuka shifted and murmured something, not quite awake. His eyes fluttered open, and he stared up at Mikoto sleepily for a moment before he smiled sweetly. Mikoto looked away. That was Totsuka’s most dangerous smile. Mercifully, Totsuka sat up so that the entire length of his body was no longer pressed against him. Mikoto, too, sat upright, reaching for the ashtray on the coffee table.

Totsuka chuckled fondly as he looked around the room at the sleeping boys scattered about. Finally, his gaze turned to Mikoto. “You had fun last night,” he whispered, leaning in slightly.

Mikoto shrugged. It wasn’t worth denying, because it had been fine.

Totsuka was looking at him the way he did sometimes. It echoed the way middle school Totsuka had looked at him, eyes full of wonder, but somehow it was _more._

Blaming early morning drowsiness, Mikoto’s hand moved on its own to cup Totsuka’s face gently. Totsuka’s eyes widened a little in surprise, but he leaned into the touch. The moment lingered, heavy with a still-unnamed tension that appeared when they were alone together, or when Totsuka stood too close and Mikoto could smell the citrus of his shampoo.

“King, I…” Totsuka said, when Mikoto’s hand finally dropped. Swallowing whatever it was he was about to say, Totsuka instead leaned in to press a soft kiss to Mikoto’s mouth. He pulled away quickly, sitting back to watch Mikoto process what he had just done, not a trace of shame or embarrassment written on his face

Mikoto kept his expression impassive as he took in the want in Totsuka’s eyes, the wry smile on his lips. Mikoto pulled him in, and their second kiss was much rougher and messier than the first. Totsuka settled in Mikoto’s lap as if he belonged there. With his hands on Totsuka’s hips and Totsuka’s tongue in his mouth, Mikoto let himself acknowledge how long they both had probably wanted this.

Then Totsuka’s phone rang loudly, jarringly, reminding them that they were, in fact, making out in the middle of HOMRA, surrounded by sleeping boys. Totsuka scrambled off Mikoto’s lap to grab his phone, but the damage had already been done; the boys stirred.

“Kusanagi-san?” Totsuka answered, voice rough, and not from sleep. Mikoto snickered to himself, a little satisfied.

He watched Homra come to life as Totsuka talked to Kusanagi. Perhaps sensing the change, Anna came down the stairs and quietly made a beeline for Mikoto’s side.

The morning continued as if Mikoto and Totsuka had not overstepped the familiar bounds of their relationship, except that, every now and then, Totsuka’s glances were full of implications that made Mikoto’s stomach clench in anticipation, the thing between them alive and so very bright.

 

 

4.

 

“King,” Totsuka moaned into his ear, breathless.

Totsuka was, unsurprisingly, loud in bed. His enthusiasm spurred Mikoto on as he shifted their hips so he could drive in deeper. It wasn’t every day that they had the time to sneak off to Totsuka’s small apartment, and so they were taking full advantage.

Totsuka’s fingers dug into Mikoto’s back as he cried out, his legs still wrapped tightly around Mikoto’s waist. Mikoto groaned into Totsuka’s neck as Totsuka’s feet pressed into his lower back, trying to drag him in even deeper. He felt the possessive urge to suck a bruise into Totsuka’s neck. Totsuka could probably come, cock untouched, if he did. He always wore Mikoto’s marks unselfconsciously, but they usually prompted judgmental stares from Kusanagi, and so it was easier to just mark Totsuka where it could be covered.

Mikoto just mouthed at Totsuka’s neck instead, enjoying Totsuka’s little gasps from the teasing. Totsuka’s nails scratched down his back, probably leaving marks of his own, and heat coiled even more tightly in Mikoto’s belly at the sensation.

“King,” Totsuka whined, desperate. “Please, ah--” His hands left Mikoto’s back to grab his face and pull him into a sloppy kiss.

Mikoto panted harshly against Totsuka’s mouth; he could hardly focus on moving his lips when fucking Totsuka felt like _this_ and he was so close. Perhaps in retaliation for the neglect, Totsuka bit down roughly on Mikoto’s bottom lip, sending a jolt of pleasure through his spine.

“Fuck,” he grunted. He wasn’t going to last much longer.

He reached between them to wrap a hand around Totsuka’s cock. It only took a few strokes before Totsuka was crying out and spilling between them. The clench of Totsuka around Mikoto’s cock sent another pulse of heat through him, and he redouble his focus on thrusting deeply into Totsuka’s tight heat.

Totsuka was still shuddering beneath him when Mikoto’s hips stuttered and the intensity of his orgasm washed over him. Collapsing fully onto Totsuka, his face found its home once again in the crook of Totsuka’s neck. He breathed heavily into Totsuka’s sweat-slicked skin, utterly spent.

Totsuka’s hands rubbed at his back before his fingers trailed up to thread through his hair. “King,” Totsuka said, his voice low and rough. And then he was lifting Mikoto’s head away from his neck so they could look at each other. Mikoto heart clenched painfully at how Totsuka looked like this, gorgeous and well fucked, cheeks flushed and eyes hazy from his orgasm.

Totsuka brought their mouths together in a kiss far sweeter than the one they’d just shared. Seemingly unconcerned with the mess between them, Totsuka sighed into the kiss, letting Mikoto deepen it into something a little hotter.

Mikoto pulled away, just to look down at Totsuka and file away the memory of him, eyes shining, golden hair splayed on the pillow, before leaning back in for more.

 

 

5.

 

Mikoto was tired. It wasn’t a physical sensation that came from a long fight or late night drinking. It was an exhaustion that he felt deep in his bones, born from the weight of everything he had to carry as the Red King. Some days, he gave in to the exhaustion. He’d spent yesterday hidden away in his apartment, in bed, and didn’t have plans to do any more than that today.

He heard a knock at the door and knew instinctively who it was. Totsuka had an eerily good sense of when to try and shake Mikoto out of his own head and when to leave him be. Yesterday, Totsuka had done nothing but bring Mikoto food and a smile, but he wouldn’t let Mikoto get away with that two days in a row.

The door opened and Mikoto shut his eyes.

“King?” Totsuka murmured as he approached.

Mikoto stayed still, eyes closed, feigning sleep despite how easily Totsuka could read him.

“King,” he said again. Gently, he brushed the back of his fingers along Mikoto’s cheek.

Mikoto couldn’t understand how, even after becoming so intimately familiar with Totsuka’s touch, after all these years, it could still be so damn _powerful._ He had wanted nothing more than to be alone, and yet, now that seemed much less appealing than bringing Totsuka into his hiding place. Mikoto let his eyes flutter open, and as met with Totsuka’s warm brown eyes. Totsuka let his hand drop from Mikoto’s face, but Mikoto caught it in his own, and Totsuka smiled at that.

“What?” Mikoto asked, voice rough. He tugged on Totsuka’s hand to pull him closer.

Totsuka obliged and sat on the side of his bed. “Are you going to come down today?”

Mikoto sighed. “In a bit.”

Totsuka chuckled and threaded their fingers together.

He leaned down, achingly slow, to ghost his lips along Mikoto’s cheek, then the other, then his forehead. He pulled back, and Mikoto couldn’t help but frown at the tease of Totsuka’s lips against his skin. Totsuka had this habit of offering Mikoto this gentleness, and then letting Mikoto decide what he wanted to do with it.

The hand that was still holding Totsuka’s came up to frame his face. Totsuka, ever pliable, let himself be pulled down so Mikoto could press their lips together, and he followed the slow, lazy pace Mikoto set.

“King,” Totsuka eventually murmured against his lips, almost scolding, because yes, Mikoto may have been trying to distract Totsuka from dragging him downstairs. But Totsuka wasn’t moving to get up, so Mikoto slid one hand down to rest on his hip and rubbed his thumb against the soft skin between the hem of Totsuka’s shirt and the waistband of his jeans.

“Okay,” Totsuka hummed, as if the touch was a wordless question. He climbed onto the bed and curled into Mikoto’s side, face resting in the crook of his neck. He snuck a hand under Mikoto’s tank to rest it on his chest, over his heart.

Mikoto let the comfort seep in from everywhere they were touching; the tickle of Totsuka’s hair against his chin, the press of Totsuka’s nose to his throat, the warmth of Totsuka’s hand on his skin, the tangle of their legs under the sheets. Some of the tension that had plagued him for the past few days bled out of him as he focused on the heartbeat that pulsed into his side, the slow exhale against his skin.

Mikoto’s eyes grew heavy, and he might have dozed a bit, until the sound of a voice shouting enthusiastically echoed up from downstairs. They both chuckled when they heard Yata ask, “Is Mikoto-san here today?”

Totsuka shifted to look up at him, and Mikoto sighed because he couldn’t ignore those eyes, that slight pout. He flicked Totsuka on the forehead, but Totsuka just laughed and pressed a quick kiss to his jaw.

“You should come down after you shower,” Totsuka said as he rolled off the bed.

Mikoto didn’t move until Totsuka had closed the door behind him with a wink. He swore he could still feel the ghost of Totsuka’s touch even after he was gone, and it was a steadying, quieting thing.

 

 

+1

 

The quiet of it all, the stillness, was the worst part.

After he’d reined in his flames and sent Anna off to bed, after he’d helped a blood-covered Kusanagi maneuver Totsuka onto his be and out of his jacket, after Kusanagi had croaked out a shaky “Mikoto” and then left him to a small moment of privacy, the quiet, the stillness, was unbearable.

He’d sat on the edge of the bed, and with more gentleness than he’d ever mustered in his entire life, had wiped the blood from Totsuka’s mouth with a damp cloth. And the quiet of it, the stillness, was the worst part, because he was hyperaware of how heavily he was breathing, how his hands were shaking.

He brushed Totsuka’s hair from his face and leaned down, slowly, to press his lips to Totsuka’s forehead. Mikoto felt so cold, and empty, because he was searching for warmth and found only quiet, and stillness, and it was unbearable.

He trailed his fingers along Totsuka’s cheek, to the shell of his ear, where his earring glinted in the harsh light, almost red.

By the time Kusanagi knocked on the door and stepped in, Mikoto, with a familiar earring piercing his own ear, had said his goodbyes and was ready to face the coming days head-on.

There would be no blood, no bone, no ash.

 

 

 

 

(bonus)

 

Mikoto had been half expecting the scolding “King!” when it came, but he couldn’t help but smirk because Totsuka couldn’t pretend to be mad even for a minute before he was bounding into Mikoto’s arms, peppering his face with kisses.

“Where are we?” Mikoto asked, eyes relearning the lines of Totsuka's face after too long apart.

“I don’t know,” Totsuka said against his cheek. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I will always be grateful to K: Missing Kings for giving us that dreamy, afterlife scene.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at alicialeila.tumblr.com


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